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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867987">Who Do  I Thank For Cowboys?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx'>xdandelionxbloomx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Finally got around to throwing this modern au up on here, I have posted it on my tumblr and this isn't a fully fledged story, M/M, Modern AU, Singer!Jaskier, but with three parts I figured I probably ought to put it up here lol, cw: cancer, horse trainer and rancher!Geralt, not terminal and no major character death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:42:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt vaulted over the fence like he wasn’t almost thirty five, light and spry and strong as ever, and Jaskier’s weak in the knees– </p><p>“Hey, Cowboy.” He said and his voice cracked, sounded rough. He reaches up to scrub at his face, laughing without humor, unsure of how to hold himself together– </p><p>Geralt’s on him in moments– </p><p>And Jaskier babbled about needing a break and medical visits–</p><p>-</p><p>Drabbles from a modern au that I can't stop thinking about.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>301</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CW: Cancer - not terminal and no major character death </p><p>I couldn't stop thinking about a way to incorporate the Djin sort of situation into a modern au and this is what came to me and now I can't stop thinking about it. </p><p>Literally copy-pasted from my tumblr (with a few minor formatting chances) so that's why the flow is a little different from some of my other fics on here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier and Geralt had been friends for nearly a decade and a half - </p><p>They met in college when they were randomly assigned roommates and they fucking <b>hated </b>each other at first, couldn’t stand each other’s guts - Geralt thought Julian was a trust fund baby who got an easy ride and he talked so goddamn much without ever <strong>saying</strong> anything and wasn’t that exhausting? Jaskier hated Geralt because the man was so fucking quiet and prickly and he never listened to music - who the hell never listens to music? And really it was a nightmare for the first half of the year and then one day Geralt came home early from his weekend trip he took out to Kaer Morhen Ranch about two hours out from their school and Julian was in TEARS on the bed, staring down at a financial aid bill and Geralt’s whole world turned on its axis. </p><p>Something changed between them that night and although they still were at each other’s throats, it was softer and slowly actual anger turned into bickering and then into blows that didn’t land at all, uncertain smiles and shared chores. </p><p>(And maybe Julian finally told Geralt that it was Jaskier and Geralt corrected himself immediately)</p><p>Geralt could <strong>cook</strong> and Jaskier finally found out what music he liked and everyone on their goddamn floor had bets for when they’d get together as Jaskier sang and played his stupid guitar while the hottest dude in the boy’s dorm cooked for him in the tiny, awful kitchen</p><p>Their latter years of college were spent sharing an apartment when Jaskier secured a better job and Geralt started training horses at Kaer Morhen and it brought in a solid amount of funds - “Welcome home, Cowboy-” started out as a joke, but the endearment <strong>stuck.</strong></p><p>And so, yeah, Jaskier was fucking hopelessly in love with Geralt and he just,,, existed in some kind of goddamn limbo. It felt like they danced a line so close and then Geralt would fall into a relationship - Renfi, Yennefer, he WON’T think about that three month tryst with some dude named Regis like who names their kid <em>Regis</em>– </p><p>Jaskier wrote and wrote and wrote and yeah, he’d gone to school for creative writing but on an open mic night someone from a label spotted him and suddenly he was swept up into this wild life in the media and he was singing and touring and suddenly little busking jobs turned into stadiums with lights so bright he couldn’t see the crowd and he just missed Geralt so much—</p><p>And they see each other every few months but it’s not how it used to be and Jaskier feels so lost– </p><p>And then– </p><p>And then one day he woke up with a sore throat and then– </p><p>Then he found his neck oddly swollen and he caved and went to the doctor and–</p><p>And the doctor tells him– </p><p>He tells him it’s cancer– </p><p>Early stages, they have a good chance of beating it, he just has to follow the treatment plan– </p><p>And it was in his <em>throat</em> because of course the world would want to keep that out of his reach too–</p><p>Jaskier arrived one dry summer afternoon at the Kaer Morhen ranch in a big black SUV that peeled away as soon as it dropped him– </p><p>And Geralt was there, of course he was there, and it was Roach - this little chestnut mare he’d been working to rehabilitate - she was aggressive to most other people and didn’t play well with the other creatures on the ranch and Geralt was terrible at texting but he sent Roach pictures every three days– </p><p>And Jaskier kind of wants to cry because they said there was a good chance, but what if– what if there’s not because it’s <em>cancer</em> and what if it spreads to the rest of him– </p><p>And he’s terrified– </p><p>He’s wasted so much time– </p><p>So much time– </p><p>Geralt saw him and lit up, and he fucking– he vaulted over the fence like he wasn’t almost thirty five, light and spry and strong as ever, and Jaskier’s weak in the knees– </p><p>“Hey, Cowboy.” He said and his voice cracked, sounded rough-</p><p>And he reaches up to scrub at his face, laughing without humor, unsure of how to hold himself together– </p><p>Geralt’s on him in moments– </p><p>And Jaskier babbled about needing a break and medical visits–</p><p>And <strong>cancer</strong>–</p><p>Jaskier didn’t tell him that he loved him that night– </p><p>He didn’t tell him for a long time– </p><p>It felt like a long time, anyways– </p><p>Geralt couldn’t wrap his head around the whole thing because Jaskier has never smoked so how– </p><p>And it could have been secondhand Jaskier tried to explain, tried to illustrate smokers in their lavish mansions with food that looked beautiful and tasted like shit, and <em><strong>God</strong> </em>he’d missed Geralt’s cooking– </p><p>Treatment was hard and he’d been traveling for the first half, but he eventually got to the point he couldn’t handle it anymore and he was going to say goodbye to Geralt and maybe– </p><p>But Geralt told him to stay, to be there, and Jaskier was always weak to refuse a request from Geralt so he stayed– </p><p>And Jaskier tried to tell him, he tried to, because there were days where he felt like time and the world was slipping out of his hands, where he felt like a ghost in his own body, wandering the halls of something unrecognizable– </p><p>And– </p><p>And— </p><p>He couldn’t even sing very well anymore at all– </p><p>And– </p><p>Jaskier shuffled out on the porch one night when he couldn’t find Geralt - the man’s hunched over a disgusting black coffee which meant he was worried and he was staring at the horse paddock like he could see something through the night– </p><p>“Cowboy.” Jaskier’s voice was a crackle, a raw noise, and Geralt startled, looking up at him, and then he looked wounded and Jaskier <em><strong>hated</strong> </em>that– </p><p>“I can go if it’s too much.” Jaskier rasped, wincing at the toll.</p><p>“No,” Geralt retorted immediately - “Don’t ever go.”  </p><p>And Jaskier started <em>crying </em>right then and there on the porch in autumn with a tiny breeze enough to make him shiver–</p><p>“I should have told you,” His voice creaked, “I should have told you.”</p><p>And Geralt stood and held him and didn’t ask and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to say it– </p><p>And then– </p><p>
  <em>And then– </em>
</p><p>They tell him it’s over– </p><p>That he’s cancer free– </p><p>And the <em>not enough time</em> fear has become something new he can’t fathom (years stretch ahead of him, seasons rolling) and he doesn’t return to the world Out There he stays on the ranch while he works through recovery–</p><p>And he day that he hollers across to the paddock without feeling like he’d swallowed glass, he realizes– </p><p>And he doesn’t say it, not really– </p><p>Geralt comes in that night dirty and exhausted and Jaskier– </p><p>He crowds him up against the wall of the little ranch house, rattling some of the pictures on the wall as his best friend in the whole world’s back hits it– </p><p>The love of his goddamn life– </p><p>“They’re all about you.” He says–</p><p>“Every single goddamn one is about you and I almost didn’t have enough time– I didn’t–” And he kisses Geralt because he cannot do anything else– </p><p>And Geralt kisses him back desperately, winds those stupid strong arms around his neck and pulls him in until they’re pressed against each other from chest to hip–</p><p>“Don’t <em>ever</em> go.” Geralt’s voice is a rough rumble from working out with the horses all day and from emotion and Jaskier wraps his arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly, pressing his face to his neck– </p><p>“<em>Never</em>.” He says–</p><p>And when he comes back– </p><p>When he comes back to social media it’s about how he beat cancer and got his voice back– </p><p>And his new single– </p><p>His new single is a tender ballad (his voice is slightly off, but it always will be after the ordeal his body went through to keep it) about a cowboy who went grey early, who liked his coffee with milk and sugar on good mornings, who had warm hands, and– </p><p>Everyone loses their shit– </p><p>Because it’s gay country music and so many feel fucking <em>seen</em>– </p><p>And Jaskier’s upbeat pop songs become a mix with slower country and he doesn’t have the twang but he sings of love and ranches and horses and sunsets with a beat up pickup truck– </p><p>And Jaskier is <em><strong>happy</strong></em><em>–</em></p><p>He’s even happier a few years later when he posts a picture of a simple gold band on his finger (without a caption since he doubted it needed one).</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. #roachupdate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier returned to social media slowly- </p><p>He started trickling in posts, snippets of song ideas, some random thoughts mostly on Instagram and his Insta stories– </p><p>And then came pictures– </p><p>The sunset over the mountains behind Kaer Morhen Ranch was first - gold, orange, burgundy, and indigo shades blending into something he told Geralt that Bob Ross would’ve liked to paint–</p><p>Geralt had snorted at that comment, but Jaskier could tell that he was secretly pleased - was happy that Jaskier enjoyed being with him on the ranch–</p><p>Another picture - blurry, with a caption– </p><p>
  <em>Geralt took this photo and it’s kind of blurry, but nicely artsy, wouldn’t you say? </em>
</p><p>It was Jaskier, from his nose down, hands plucking at the acoustic guitar, unfocused and grainy in what little evening light crept through their dining room windows–</p><p>Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt that he planned to use it for his new single cover.</p><p>Another–</p><p>Geralt crouched in front of a little girl whose face was obscured by the man himself as he helped her adjust her riding helmet, his cowboy hat tipped a little crooked - the kids never wanted to wear their helmets if Geralt didn’t wear one and he, too, hated them so he’d taken to the hat which in the past had only cemented his nickname– </p><p>
  <em>What are the kids calling it these days? Cowboycore?</em>
</p><p>All hell broke loose over that photo - from people observing how good Geralt looked in his worn jeans (which Jaskier could appreciate as well because it was true) to people hounding Jaskier about cowboycore and–</p><p>
  <em>Doesn’t cowboycore have gay connotations? </em>
</p><p>Jaskier replied - <em>That one Ariana Grande gif. And what about it?</em></p><p>The internet promptly lost their collective mind– </p><p><em>Wait, wait, is that who Honey Gold was about? </em>Someone tweeted him. </p><p>That song was five years old and so he didn’t reply– </p><p>He wasn’t sure he was ready to share just how long it had been yet. </p><p>Jaskier had a plan brewing, but Geralt would have to be willing to be on camera for a significant chunk of it, be willing to really be a part of Jaskier’s art– </p><p>He wasn’t sure Geralt was ready and so he didn’t propose it for a while yet, working instead on the single that had taken up a significant part of his brain - an ear worm he couldn’t get rid of that made him tap his fingers on whatever surface was closest if he didn’t have his guitar around. </p><p>He shared a photo of a sunset, Geralt leaned up against the fence of the solitary paddock where Roach was housed for the moment while he worked with her– </p><p>
  <em>That horse might have the spirit of a devil, but at least she loves Geralt. As she should. </em>
</p><p>He couldn’t count the number of comments demanding a name for the little chestnut mare and so the next day he ended up out at the paddock as Geralt lunged the horse without a rope, sending her in circles around the paddock as he stood in the center of it– </p><p>Jaskier takes a short video as she passes by– </p><p>In the midday sun, her scars were more visible and he hesitated to post it before he settled on captioning the video– </p><p>
  <em>This is Roach. Geralt adopted her through a rescue. Her last owners called her a cockroach from what I’ve heard, but the rescue called her Roachie. Geralt insists that Roach has more dignity. </em>
</p><p>Jaskier ended up showing Geralt the comments because they were just so–</p><p>Sweet. </p><p>A few people shared their own stories about their rescue horses and Geralt had been annoyed by the phone being shoved in his face every few minutes at first, but by the end of the day Jaskier knew he was secretly pleased because even though he’d roll his eyes when Jaskier pushed the phone towards him over dinner, Geralt would read the comment he pointed out–</p><p>And his lips would twitch up at the corners– </p><p>Half of Jaskier’s Instagram became dedicated to Geralt and Roach, just random pictures that he snapped– </p><p>The other half tended to be short videos of him messing around on the guitar, or voice updates, or photos of hands– </p><p>Then suddenly a couple of weeks where he wasn’t very active–</p><p>Those couple of weeks had been hard because he’d finished writing the single entirely, but he’d started on that other project and kept working himself up to ask Geralt about it, but how did one even do that? </p><p>How could he possibly–</p><p>And then one night Jaskier got out of the shower to find Geralt reading a book on the couch. It wasn’t necessarily unusual - Geralt preferred books to television, but there was something so warm about it that night, something that made his chest ache. </p><p>With damp hair he’d made his way over to the couch where he climbed up onto it, curling up against Geralt’s side, nuzzling against him. The other man grunted at the feeling of his wet hair, but didn’t complain, shifting his hold– </p><p>He kept the book open with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Jaskier, turning his head briefly to press a kiss to the crown of his head. </p><p>“What are you reading?” Jaskier had asked, voice small in the space between them. It didn’t have to be big here. There wasn’t an audience. Just Geralt. </p><p>“Poetry.” Geralt answered and Jaskier hummed a soft note. </p><p>“Read some?” He rasped, softly, and closed his eyes, settling in. </p><p>Geralt did, of course, because despite all his eye rolling he was kind and soft and always had been– </p><p>And the words he read gripped Jaskier, cemented the whole swirling picture into something linear, and he fell asleep against Geralt thinking about it, listening to his gruff voice– </p><p>Four days later he posted a picture of his notebook with a simply smiley as a caption– </p><p>They didn’t need to know that he and Geralt had discussed in length what the project would mean, what it would entail - didn’t need to know that Geralt asked for time to think, that Jaskier had taken it as a no at first and instead turned his attention to perfecting the mixing on the single he planned to release very soon - didn’t need to know that Geralt came to him on the fourth morning and told Jaskier that he’d do it, only if Jaskier promised he didn’t have to fly to New York or wear makeup– </p><p>Jaskier had kissed him, had taken him to bed, had told him in the proper words, told Geralt he was going to hear it on the project anyways– </p><p>Geralt hadn’t said it back yet, but the look on his face told Jaskier all he needed to know– </p><p>The picture of his notebook had far too many comments to even begin to reply to - excitement over new music, people telling him to make sure he felt well before returning, people trying to decipher his handwriting, and then there was the tiny section of people who had started a hashtag. </p><p>
  <em>#Roachupdate - </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please can we get a picture of Roach? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How is Roach doing?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Has Roach let you pet her yet?</em>
</p><p>So Jaskier caved and posted another photo of Roach - it was significantly closer than all his other photos as Jaskier could stand at the fence now without the devil mare losing her mind. </p><p>
  <em>She’s doing good. She loves Geralt to death, but doesn’t let anyone else touch her. Still can’t be lose with other horses but we’ve been able to have them separated by the fence without her trying to snap at them through it. #Roachupdate</em>
</p><p>And thus Saturdays became designated Roach Update days, though if someone caught him at a good time on Twitter, he might just tweet a photo of her because he could. </p><p>About the time his new single - his ballad about a cowboy who went grey early, who liked his coffee with milk and sugar on good mornings, who had warm hands - came out, he posted a photo of his hand on Roach’s muzzle. </p><p>
  <em>She may be a devil, but she’s our devil. #Roachupdate </em>
</p><p>His single picked up steam in a way he hadn’t expected it to and suddenly there were eyes on him again and– </p><p>It was a lot. He’d forgotten how life could be in the spotlight– </p><p>And he worried, he worried about his voice, about– </p><p>But the night Geralt read him that poem, voice low, would come back to him and he’d take a deep breath and smile– </p><p>Because he could do this again. </p><p>He wanted to do this again. Wanted to share with the world his story. </p><p>Most of all, he supposed, he wanted to share<em> their</em> story, with Geralt beside him, tell the world about it, about him, about the amazing man– </p><p>And so on a rainy Saturday morning, Jaskier posted a photo– </p><p>Roach had a simple brown halter on, rope hooked to it, and Jaskier held the rope, smiling just a little as he looked at her– </p><p>The photo was Geralt’s phone background because of course Geralt would do that, would make Jaskier’s chest feel too tight in the best way every time he opened his phone up to find something–</p><p>But he captioned the photo–</p><p>
  <em>Roach might actually like me now. Geralt rode her the other day with a bareback pad so I’d say that it’s significant progress. Oh, and I started working on my new visual album. #Roachupdate</em>
</p><p>Safe to say that his fans erupted into chaos.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. To: Cowboy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Cancer - not terminal and no character death</p><p>Jaskier talks about his experience a little in his visual album</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier’s visual album starts with the sounds of a hospital– </p><p>It fades in from black to a scene of the edge of a hospital bed, the distorted sound of a doctor’s voice overlaid with ringing, making it indistinguishable– </p><p>A shot of paperwork, in and out of focus - an IV, Jaskier’s fingers tapping the arm of his seat, walls white and clinical around him– </p><p>And then there is the inside of a car, Jaskier’s head leaning against the window, eyelids drooping and heavy with exhaustion– </p><p>The sound doesn’t match as he cleared his throat, tried to speak - it’s a recording of when his voice was at its peak worst, rasping, breaking, scraping out of his throat– </p><p>Unsteady humming as Jaskier lifts his head from the window, overlaid with wrecked humming, and his own voice now, changed, not and yet himself–</p><p>“And I wanted to tell you someday-” Jaskier’s voice filters through the mess, and it quiets behind him as the car comes to a stop and Jaskier climbs out, leaving the sight of the camera–</p><p>“I kept telling myself - someday I would, but - suddenly those days were numbered and–” </p><p>A sigh. </p><p>The shot changes to Jaskier’s shoes, the dirt and dust the SUV kicked up swirling around them– </p><p>“I could only think of you. So I went to you and still, I could not tell you.” </p><p>Geralt’s arms wrap around his shoulders and Jaskier presses his face to his shoulder in the midday sun, hands gripping loosely at his shirt– </p><p>And then the shot is changed–</p><p>Jaskier is standing there in the same position, identical, but it is a dark room, empty– </p><p>Fog swirls about his feet– </p><p>His hands are achingly empty– </p><p>And Jaskier wraps his arms around himself and sings–</p><p>Sings about how his love slips through his fingers like smoke, how time slips through his hands like sand, how he can hold on to neither– </p><p>Sings about the <em>agony</em> of watching the years slide by, unable to reach out and grasp, unable to hang on– </p><p>Jaskier dances with an invisible partner, knocked to his feet, pushed onto his side, collapsed on the foggy floor–</p><p>He struggles to his feet, reaches out, and suddenly it’s the same shot before, and in a blink he’s back in Geralt’s arms, fingers loose in his shirt, forcing himself to step back with a wobbly smile, voice cracking on the last note of the song–</p><p>“Cancer is a scary word.” Jaskier whispers over a shot of Geralt cooking dinner, strong hands handling the knives with ease Jaskier will never possess– </p><p>“It’s strange because you’ve known your body all this time and suddenly you don’t - you feel like you’ve stepped into your childhood home after someone else has moved in, or after it’s been abandoned. You recognize it, but not really. It’s yours and it’s not. You don’t understand, but it’s happening and you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.” </p><p>Jaskier enters the shot, leaning up against the counter and smiling crookedly at Geralt, the camera panning over to focus on his face– </p><p>His smile falls when Geralt looks away from him, his eyes sad, searching the man’s face, running over his profile– </p><p>“And I swore I’d tell you before the time ran out. I didn’t know when that would be, but I’d tell you. And I think, maybe, I kept putting it off because I felt selfish for it.” </p><p>Jaskier looks away and pushes off the counter, steps past the camera– </p><p>Geralt turns to look after him and suddenly– </p><p>Jaskier croons a soft, slow, and sweet song about a man who smiles like the sun, a man with honey gold eyes, a man with calloused hands he wanted to hold– </p><p>Geralt stands in the evening, nearly grey hair painted yellow as the sun began to dip, eyes the same as they glance at the camera– </p><p>A shot of hooves as they cover the grassy ground of the pasture, called in for the night–</p><p>Jaskier croons about standing so close, of touches and shared laughter, of <em>yearning</em> and it being okay because he <em>knew</em>– </p><p>The man with honey gold eyes cared in his own way, showed it in his tolerance for too many words, in his gifts, in the way he cooked dinner for him always–</p><p>Geralt guides the horses to their stalls, feeds them, shots of his hands working stall doors shut– </p><p>And Jaskier– </p><p>Jaskier watching from the door of the barn, leaning up against it with a glass of water in his hand, Geralt’s hands waving him away any time he tried to help– </p><p>Jaskier turns to walk back towards the house and he stumbles– </p><p>The glass hits the dirt– </p><p>And suddenly he’s in that black room again, expression empty as the glass splinters, water spreads across the floor–</p><p>The song dissolves into acoustic plucking, Jaskier making the strings work for him as if they were a voice, too–</p><p>“You didn’t understand. I didn’t either, really. I don’t really tend to be an angry or bitter man, not truly. Resigned at times, perhaps, but not furious. But I was on the bad nights, when my voice wouldn’t come. When it felt like shards of glass in my throat. It felt like the world was keeping that, too.”</p><p>Jaskier crouches, pokes at the pieces of glass–</p><p>He picks a piece up, opens his mouth, sets it on his tongue–</p><p>“I thought a lot about what I might have done differently.”</p><p>The shot is the same, but it’s in the kitchen, Jaskier pressing a piece of strawberry to his mouth instead. </p><p>“I kept thinking that I should have told you. A long time ago, I should have told you - before I left to tour, maybe. Earlier than that?” </p><p>Jaskier grins at their dining table, the shot changing to the plate of strawberries before him, sliced into manageable pieces by Geralt– </p><p>“I almost did, once. We were sitting on that shitty apartment’s couch - you remember that apartment. I swear it haunts my dreams sometimes. I was picking out whatever filled the cushions through the hole worn on the right side and I watched you rant about one of the rich clients that boarded their horse at the ranch. I wanted to kiss you so much.” </p><p>A sigh. </p><p>The shot changes to Geralt rolling his eyes, but smiling as well, absently tucking his hair behind his ear - the shot slows for a moment, the motion examined– </p><p>“I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t.” </p><p>Jaskier’s next song is more upbeat, though it picked up pace slowly. </p><p>This is all metaphors, sunflowers reaching for the light, rocks smoothed by a river– </p><p>It’s all what Geralt did to him, does to him– </p><p>How he does not know but he makes Jaskier better at the same time that he aches–</p><p>Jaskier rides a horse here, tacks her up, rides alone– </p><p>He pauses to watch a bird sing, before taking flight, wonder clear on his face–</p><p>A shot of Geralt reaching for Roach, her muzzle bumping his hand lightly– </p><p>The song ends abruptly, and it’s suddenly just Roach standing there, flicking her tail boredly, ears swiveling about as she listened. </p><p>“You asked me to stay.” Jaskier whispers, in the same tone that he talked about cancer. </p><p>“And I did. Of course I did. But I knew you were afraid even if you wouldn’t say it. And I couldn’t tell you, but I think you knew, then. I think you knew.” </p><p>Jaskier breathes in and then– </p><p><em>I love you more than the my ribs can hold</em>, he strums the guitar gently– </p><p>It’s a tender love song about a cowboy who went grey early, who liked his coffee with milk and sugar on good mornings, who had warm hands– </p><p>It’s the single that he released originally, but a bit slower, a bit softer here in the context– </p><p>And it’s the porch, the stars, rocking chairs, a glass of whiskey, a glass of water, hands gesturing, smiles, wrecked looks, a guitar– </p><p>Snippets upon snippets of all the little things that Jaskier loves– </p><p>“They told me I was cancer free on a Thursday.” Jaskier confides, over the shot of a rising sun. </p><p>“I laughed at first, and then I cried. It didn’t feel real. And I didn’t want to go back to the spotlight, not yet. I had missed you. Missed the domestic. You asked me to stay, and you didn’t tell me to go so I didn’t. I worked on getting better. I worked on processing that I didn’t have a finish line anymore. At least one not right in front of me.” </p><p>Jaskier stands in the black room. </p><p>Fog swirls around his feet. </p><p>The sound of Geralt’s voice, muffled, floats in from the right, and then the left, surrounding–</p><p>“And more than anything in the whole world, I wanted to tell you. And I did. That all of it was for you.” </p><p>Jaskier runs– </p><p>He runs for the far side of the room, braces his shoulder, breaks through a door that wasn’t visible before–</p><p>The ranch sprawls before him and Geralt startles a little where he stands on the front porch– </p><p>The door of the little ranch house flung open as Jaskier pants at the threshold, eyes wide–</p><p>Jaskier sings something more powerful than the rest, reaches for Geralt, wraps his hands in his sweaty shirt–</p><p>He hadn’t taken his evening shower yet– </p><p>The light paints them gold–</p><p>Jaskier’s voice breaks on the big note and he leaves it in because this whole album is imperfect, things are wrong, but it’s his story and it matters– </p><p>And he sings <em>forever</em>–</p><p>He catches his breath after the song is over, strong arms wrapped around him, pressed against Geralt’s chest–</p><p>“I didn’t know you read poetry, but you did for me, one night. It was by Mary Oliver.” </p><p>A shot of Jaskier’s scratchy, loopy script– </p><p>A shot of papers spread across the floor– </p><p>A shot of Geralt pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he navigated the mess– </p><p>“And I’m terrified to release this. You haven’t even heard all of the inbetweens. But, cowboy, I keep thinking of your voice when you read it. How the final verse sounded on your tongue–” </p><p>Geralt’s voice overruns his for a moment, a gruff thing, low– </p><p>“Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.” </p><p>It’s a bit monotone, a bit straight from the page, a bit stiff, unused to being recorded, but it’s there, it’s his voice, it’s clear– </p><p>“And so I’m going to sing and tell the world about it all because life is too short for anything else.” </p><p>Jaskier’s last song leans towards his old pop records, bubbly and bright, but it’s acoustic, stays true to the sound– </p><p>And there’s smiles, and boots, and breakfast– </p><p>There’s Roach, and some of the other horses, flashes of kids and trail rides– </p><p>Geralt’s cowboy hat– </p><p>Jaskier stealing said hat– </p><p>Geralt yanking him in by his belt loops to kiss him– </p><p>The sun rising– </p><p>And the visuals fade to white from the light hitting the camera–</p><p>Jaskier dissolves into humming the upbeat tune, a sound that turns into bright laughter and a muffled– </p><p>“Geralt.” </p><p><strong>Title<em>:</em></strong>To: Cowboy</p><p>
  <b>Tracklist:</b>
</p><ol>
<li><em>Time (Like Glass Is Fragile)</em></li>
<li><em>Honey Gold Pt. 2</em></li>
<li><em>Earthen</em></li>
<li><em>My Ribcage (You Live There)</em></li>
<li><em>To Breathe Once More (For You)</em></li>
<li><em>Who Do I Thank For Cowboys?</em></li>
</ol><p><b>Runtime: </b>35-45 minutes</p>
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